


A Healer's Hands

by macgyvershe



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bond Mates, Fluff, Healing, M/M, Near Death wound, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-03-30
Packaged: 2018-01-17 15:26:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1392718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macgyvershe/pseuds/macgyvershe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a universe where Healers (doctors) heal by their touch; the only drawback being the life force of the doctor is what powers his ability to heal. However, when Sherlock Holmes finds John Watson, a healer of exceptional strength and focus, he thinks he’s golden. With a high-end healer at his side, he can risk life and limb without worry of the consequences, but as he finds love in his heart for his newfound friend, how can he risk both their lives with his reckless behavior?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Healer's Hands

Healers did not have long life expectancies. If you made it past forty you were doing exceptionally well, but it wasn’t something you studied for; you were born to it. Going against your nature didn’t work. Those healers who chose not to follow their paths often didn’t have long lives either. Most embraced their calling and gave every ounce of themselves to humanity. It was a short, courageous and much honored lifestyle/profession. 

John Watson was a healer on the tenth level, the highest level attainable, and to top it off he was an Army doctor. Healing the massive injuries incurred in combat was an incredible feat not many doctors could claim; he’s done it for five years. Then an IED (improvised explosive device) stripped him of his abilities. Healers were notoriously difficult to mend. Their huge energy fields preventing peers from entering into the damaged tissue to aid in the recovery process. Injured Healers often became emotionally and physically scared, unable to return to work which eventually lead to an early death. A healer’s life was never an easy or a long one.

(-_-)

John leaned on his cane as he entered one of Bart’s labs with Mike. The potential flat mate is there sitting at the counter using a pipette to add liquid to a Petri dish.

‘My god,’ John thinks. ‘What an exotic fellow. He looks like he’s stepped out of time, either born in the distant past or come from somewhere in the far future. He was exceptionally tall with a corona of black curly locks that are riotously savage in nature. Slightly almonded eyed and those eyes; they flashed blue-grey-green and gold. Those glorious eyes were staring straight at John now and he reached out with his diminished energy fields to suss this possible flat mate. As the tall stranger requested Mike’s mobile, John stood tall offering his. John’s senses registered, not hetero ‒ not bi ‒ not gay, surprised, John usually can easily determine sexual proclivities. John’s EFs (energy fields) aren’t what they used to be, this fantastic male isn’t putting out any sexual energy at all. Odd.

The brunet is standing at the open lab door after reading John like a book. Says his name is Sherlock Holmes and they are to meet at 221B Baker Street and then he winks at John. What is that? John throws a delicate EF field toward the departing man. Heart rate elevated ‒ hormones engaged ‒ circulation enhanced. Signs that indicate there is a sexual interest. John smiles this could be good.

(-_-)

The shot that killed Jeff Hope was right on the money. It wasn’t until Sherlock starts deducing to Lestrade with his orange blanket on his too thin shoulders that he notices that it’s John. John, the most likely person to have done the shooting was sitting on the curb outside the police tape. John is looking decidedly pale and unwell. Sherlock walks away from Lestrade and over to where John was trembling, his energy levels fluctuating in radical arcs.

“Your energy levels are nearly depleted.” Not a question. 

“That happens when your levels are shite gone, when your healer instincts are completely over thrown, when you commit yourself to death dealing.”

“Understood. We need to get you home.” Sherlock gently drew John up onto his feet.

“I’m afraid my bedsit is across town. Don’t know if I have the energy to make it that far. I’m dead on my feet.”

“You don’t have to go that far. Baker Street is a short cab drive away.”

(-_-)

That was the beginning of it. Sherlock and John traipsing around London, her posh settings as well as her dingy dives. It was all good. Sherlock was ecstatic knowing he had such a healer at his side. His reckless behavior instead of taking a back seat, decided it wanted to drive. Repeatedly Sherlock rushed head long into danger. John, reliable, steadfast John tried to be there at his side. Mending his wounds and healing Sherlock with a practiced ease. Sherlock moved John into Baker Street and John never looked back.

(-_-)

“You look like shite,” Lestrade commented. “He’s been jumping off tall buildings and dragging you into filthy skips again has he?”

“Yes and yes.” John commented. 

“You better tell him you’re not limitless in your ability to heal. You need to recharge as much as he does.” Lestrade looked terribly ticked off at the consulting detective.

“Look here, Sherlock.” He started to yell as he heard the tall man enter the room behind him. Turning Lestrade gave Sherlock a withering look. “Your mate here is in tatters. You best take care of him. He’s not capable of keeping your sorry arse out of hot water forever. You are going to lose him.”

“Lose him? John has never been lost in his life. He’s like a GPS device…”

“Lose him as in dead. You git. D.E.A.D., dead, dead. A doctor can only heal by using his life force. Didn’t they teach you that at school?”

“If they did, I deleted it.” Sherlock snarked. He did stop and look closely at John. Very closely. He was peckish, tired, and shades of crap; his energy fields were dangerously low. He hadn’t seen that before. Possibly because he took John for granted. Possibly because he took everything for granted. 

“Come John,” he all but lifted him from the crime scene moving toward the curb. Hailing a taxi, he gently helped John in and pulled out his mobile as the cabbie drove them ‘quickly’ to Baker Street.

John was leaning against Sherlock during the ride home. His wooly brain too tired to question or find concern at what was happening.

Sherlock phoned a local restaurant and ordered from the menu. They didn’t deliver so an emergency fund opened up for a member of his network to retrieve the food and taxi it back home. By the time Sherlock and John were back in Baker Street, a hot meal greeted them brought by one of Sherlock’s many network people. Generously tipped for the timely manner of fulfilling his assignment, network person brought the bag of food up to the flat.

Sherlock ushered John up the stairs, removed all his outer clothing and moved John right along to Sherlock’s bed. John blinked and looked at the room he’d only seen from the doorway.

“Sherlock, what the hell is going on?”

A lap tray and bowls of hot food, cutlery and cups of tea materialized out of thin air. John presented with the idea of eating the wonderful meal set before him quickly acquiesced. His fabulous meal complete, his tired eyes drooped and a tiny snore emanated from his crooked little mouth. Before he could completely delve into real sleep, he was again man handled out of his street clothes and into pajamas from his bedroom. Tucked in at last he settled into the soft, clean sheets of Sherlock’s bed, he let himself drift away.

Sherlock sat on the bed his back against the headboard. His long legs stretched out before him. John’s laptop on his lap as he further researched Healers. Their hard, short lives and way too early deaths. Shite, he’d deleted all this, or buried it deep in ditch under the Mind Palace. 

He’d undermined John’s health. He’d been taking copious amounts of John’s life energy so that he could solve puzzles and fight crime. Never once had John complained or brought up this deleterious activity. Of course he wouldn’t, it wasn’t in John’s nature not to give. Not to take care of Sherlock ‘asshat’ Holmes.

There was nothing for it; Sherlock would have to let John go. If they continued as before, John would be dead in less than a year. Sherlock felt something he hadn’t felt before. Suddenly he didn’t want John to leave. Losing John would be like losing his right eye or his left lung. That just couldn’t happen. He cared for John. Giving John up was akin to letting someone lobotomize him. There had to be another option. Something, anything that would keep John at his side, but prevent him from doing further healing. How would that work? John would never not heal people. It was in his fucking DNA.

Sherlock was chasing this thought around his Mind Palace, as a dog chases its tail. Closing the laptop, he placed it on the nightstand. This caring for people was exhausting. He took off his shoes and lay down next to John. A few moments with his eyes closed. A moment to reorient his brain cells to work on this problem without letting his emotions, sentiments and messy desires clog his neural pathways. Oh what he wouldn’t give for a cigarette right now. Closing his eyes, oblivion took him.

(-_-)

Sherlock experienced a sensation of floating. Not something he normally felt, so he opened his eyes to find himself reclining on what appeared to be a cloud. Odd. There were other clouds floating about too. On each cloud was a John recumbent and smiling, looking refreshed and ready to tear off after Sherlock Holmes.

“So many of you.” Sherlock said to no one John. “Why so many of you?”

“It’s a solution to your problem,” one of the closer images of John said. “If there were many of me. You wouldn’t have to worry at all if you lost one or two would you.”

“Well, that’s a crap answer.” Sherlock said. “I wouldn’t want to lose a single John if I had many of them. I’d want to keep them all.”

Every John evaporated leaving just the one. Sherlock’s John. “If this is a dream to help me find an answer then you are doing it wrong.” Sherlock stated. He didn’t like the subterfuge of not getting straightforward answers. He was not a patient man. Not a kind man. In fact, screw it; he was a right bloody buggery, ridiculous man who finally saw that John Watson was not just his only friend. Sherlock, being Sherlock didn’t do anything by halves. Friendship would never be enough. From the very first, John had been different and just being in his presence made Sherlock a better man, a wiser man. A man who couldn’t live without his John Watson. Shite. He was in love. Sherlock Holmes was in bloody love.

He flopped back onto his cloud and placed his hands over his eyes. “I need an answer now more than ever. I need to keep John safe. I have to keep him safe.

“One thing you could easily do is not leave me behind so much.” 

“And what does that mean? Oh!” The Eureka moment hit Sherlock between the eyes. “You’ve got the gun, but I run off instead of keeping you at my side where you can keep us both from harm.”

“Score one for the genius detective.” John said a smile in his voice. “And…”

“And what?” Sherlock asked. His John had something important to reveal. He could tell.

“When you were doing your research. You saw an obscure investigational work done on Healers that did live longer lives. You tucked it away for further research. I think you should look into that.” John pulled Sherlock’s cloud closer and flipped over onto it budging Sherlock over. “You are almost assuredly welcome.” John said as he snuggled closer.

Sherlock awoke with the warm body of John Watson pressed up against his. Day had turned to early evening and John was sleeping soundly. Now for full on research. Sherlock slipped from bed, divested himself of his clothes, got into his favorite tatty tee shirt, his well love pajama bottoms and resumed his position on the bed so that he could study the computer, his back against the headboard, but still close enough to reach out to touch John if he needed to. Damn it but he needed to a lot. That was worrying and a comfort. 

So Healers who lived longer lives. What were the parameters? There were few real studies, just some anecdotal data. Healers with strong life bonds to their respective mates could learn to transfer healing energy back and forth between themselves, thus letting a healer recharge between healings. Learning to interact with a healer was hard work and not easily done. No real research was available. Lack of money, yada-yada. Strong life mates. That was it. That could be what he was looking for. The answer to their problem.

(-_-)

The next morning John woke in Sherlock’s bed. Rested and just a tad unsure how he’d gotten out of his clothes and into his pajamas and into Sherlock’s bed. Slowly, his brain cells fired and he remembered Sherlock taking care of him. Sherlock? 

“Ah, John you are awake. I’ve got some tea and Mrs. Hudson has brought us some wonderful scones with jam. I know you like scones and jam.”

“Sherlock, you did this didn’t you?” 

“Tea, touch of cream, no sugar…”

“Why are you being a caring flat mate? Have I died and this is flat mate heaven?”

Sherlock looked about. “No, still 221B. I brought you home and put you to bed, and then I fed you. You were completely knackered. I’m sorry that I’ve been taking advantage of your natural tendencies. I will be more careful going forward. Now we need to become life mates, develop a strong bond and we need to learn to channel your life force back and forth between us. Ready now?”

“Now I know I’m dead, completely mental or possibly both. And WHAT the hell are you talking about life mates? What have you been smoking?”

Sherlock smiled and put a lap tray over John’s lap so that he could tuck into some breakfast. As he took his seat on the side of the bed.

“Been doing research on Healers. Lestrade made me aware of my terrible treatment of you.”

“Thank goodness for Greg.” John bit into his scone and sipped his tea. If this was a dream, he was going to luxuriate in it as much as possible before it melted.

“There are some anecdotal papers that indicate that strong bonds between life partners may allow the transmutation of healing energy between said partners instead of the one way exchange that normally happens. When this takes place the Healers energy isn’t diminished but amplified when they heal.”

“I’ve heard of these stories, but there is one drawback, Sherlock.”

“Yes.” Sherlock needed all the data he could gather.

“When the bond is that strong, if anything detrimental happens to the Healer it happens to his mate. The partner will suffer the same fate. Hal Clemens died when he tried to pull survivors out of the tunnel collapse months ago. The tunnel collapse crushed him. His wife was several miles away. When he died, she died within minutes of the accident. Cause of death severe trauma due to crushing of the torso.”

“I am more than willing to take the chance, John. You are more than my flat mate, my friend, I want to be your bond mate, you partner in all things.”

“Even in death?” John asked. “What about the whole married to my work thing?”

“I’ll file for divorce tomorrow,” Sherlock said as he lifted the lap tray and set it on the floor. Then took a rather compliant and completely shocked John into a warm if awkward, loving embrace. 

“If this is a dream, I’m so screwed.” John said with a straight face as he hugged Sherlock back.

(-_-)

Sherlock investigated the Clemens’s and their relationship. They had both had the same altruistic life styles. He a Healer and she a nurse practitioner. From all accounts, they were very close, very much in love and loved by all who knew them.

Sherlock gave a detailed report to John about the data he’d found. Sherlock knew he could be a good partner. Everyone loving Sherlock was a tall order. “No one will ever love me except you, John.”

“And I’m not sure about that all the time.” John pulled a sarcastic face. Sherlock immediately stepped closer and pummeled John with the Union Jack pillow. “Come here, you.” John commanded. Sherlock loved it when John talked in his Captain’s voice.

They spend much time working on strengthening their bond. John started to ‘channel’ healing energy into Sherlock and teaching him to channel it back. It worked sometimes but not consistently. John ever the documenter and blogger took copious notes and filed reports with the Healers Network. Dismissed out right, his documentation considered as un-representational of the true Healer life style. As more and more people read John’s on-line blog, reports, and procedures, other Healers attempted to replicate John and Sherlock’s bonding procedures; healing without depleting the healer, as the healer would recharge via his bond mate. Everyone started calling it the Johnlock method, though John tried unsuccessfully to change it to the Clemens’s method in honor of the two people who had died providing the initial data. 

(-_-)

Sherlock was getting more and more proficient at the channeling of the energy. Feeling more comfortable with John not being in danger of losing his life. John was a great former soldier who was a crack shot and Sherlock kept him at his side. Things were looking up and life was good. Until a Sunday night six months later.

(-_-)

The building was under construction. Prefect place to do a body dump. Thankfully, John and Sherlock were in pursuit of the killer who was going to do the dumping. Lestrade was right behind them. It was grand, it was glorious, it was Christmas for Sherlock ‘bloody’ Holmes. Until the perp turned and fired into the men running after him. Sherlock kept running. Until he lost the sound of John’s shoes hitting the pavement behind him. Abruptly he turned back to see what was keeping John?

Lestrade and John were on the ground. There was blood spatter on them. Sherlock’s heart sank. The villain forgotten. He sprinted back to the horrific scene. Coming to his knees before the two fallen men.

“John are you hurt?” 

John’s EF is strong, pulsing and surging. The bullet caught Lestrade: it’s a bad wound blood spurting outward. 

“He’s dying Sherlock. I have to…”

“No, no, no, John you can’t do this. You absolutely cannot do this!”

John puts his hand over the pumping wound and draws his energy field down to the point of contact. Sherlock can sense his concentration. 

“Fuckall.” Sherlock grabs John and tries to pull him away. It’s no use, the soldier/doctor has begun his life saving healing and there is no stopping him. Sherlock just takes his position behind John and grips him tightly about the waist. “I’ve got you.” He keeps repeating.

John’s energy field and Sherlock’s merge. Sherlock closes his eyes and his inner vision provides him with a scene he’s never experienced before. He can actually see the regenerative process. Lestrade was magnetic north and his body was drawing John’s life force into his own. Sherlock knows this was an illusion. John was sending his energy into the Detective Inspector. John was focused, his mind, body and spirit pouring into Greg. 

“You have to pull back at the point where your energy starts to fade.” Sherlock speaks into John’s ear. “You have to let go soon.” 

The pumping arterial blood has stopped and the color is starting to return to Lestrade’s limbs. 

“Sherlock,” John whispers. His strength and capacity to ‘heal’ death is not going well. Sherlock can see this is going to end badly. Lestrade might not make it and John might die too if he can’t break the bond. 

‘The bond.’ Sherlock remembers the lessons, the exchange of energy between John and himself. He opens up, lets his energy flow and mingle with John’s, like a tsunami John’s overwhelming healing energy sucks him into the void of Lestrade’s wound. Sherlock struggles knowing he hasn’t the power that John has in this realm.

“John, listen to me. We have to do what we can and then we have to back out of this. If we don’t we will die with Lestrade. We will die.” Sherlock isn’t sure if John can hear him at this point.

“John,” Sherlock can hear the desperation in his own voice. He doesn’t want to die. Can he live without John? 

Sherlock ramps up his energy. Configures the small swirls of water he possesses and uses them to amplify the huge tide pools of John’s reserves of energy. 

“John, PLEASE.” Sherlock yells into John’s energy field hoping that John can sense his immediacy. He feels himself losing consciousness. His head spinning, heart shuttering as it loses it's connection to his body.

(-_-)

Sherlock wakes in his own bed. Little memory of how he got there is available. Scoping the room out, he finds John sitting next to him reading a book and sipping Earl Grey. He's in his pajamas. Sherlock attempts to claw his way out of the large conflagration of blankets that cocoon him.

“Easy there.” John says placing his tea down on the bedside table and abandoning his book. “That was your first near death healing experience and it took a lot out of you.”

“Took a lot out of me.” Sherlock croaks, his voice not quite returned to its normal timbre. “I thought we were going to die, John. What the hell happened?”

“We almost did. Die that is. I’ve never attempted that difficult a healing before. I was lost in it. I couldn’t find my way back. Then I felt your energy levels drain into mine. I felt your heart shutter and begin to beat erratically. The connection we’ve forged was strong. I used it to find my way back to you.”

“Lestrade?”

“We healed an arterial breach on the streets of London. He needed transfusions of blood and fluid, but he’s going to be fine.”

“And us? Are we going to be fine?” Sherlock felt oddly weak and not at all like himself.

John smiled such a smile. “We, my dear, are going to be written up in the British Medical Journal; we are going to be wined and dined by the press from around the world. We’ve accomplished something that no one has ever done.”

“Being?” Sherlock scoffed.

“A level ten healer and a bloke off the street. Correction a genius level bloke off the street have proved that healers with dynamic mental bonds with their life-mates can perform near miracles and live to tell the tale.”

“Then why do I feel like I was the one who died?” Sherlock said in a kittenish voice.

“That’s because it was your first time healing. I was shite for a week after my first healing.”

“John, I don’t want to be in bed for a week. I’ll die of boredom.” Sherlock was determined to be sulky and pouty.

“I think I’ve come up with some exercises that might alleviate your boredom.” John said moving in closer and kissing the consulting lover.

“I’d be most decidedly happy if you could come really close and show me exactly how?” Sherlock said in his most sultry tones. 

“Prepared to be thrilled.” John said and moved in to administer first aid.


End file.
